Monday, 23 November 2009

Dave, Tim, Max and Rocco were all waiting for me in the car. I jumped in, looked down at my legs, jumped out, shouting "HANG ON I'LL BE STRAIGHT BACK."

Dave groaned, I shouted over my shoulder "Shut up! I always wait for you yet you never wait for me ..."

Ran back inside and searched for my razor. The weather is so bloody awesome, we were all going to the beach ... as soon as I shaved the Amazon forest off my legs.

In a panic, I did something I haven't done for about 20 years .... a dry shave.

Ran back to the car in record time, slammed the door, off we drove to Sydney.

My legs felt a bit tingly.

By the time we got down there, they were covered with a mass of welts, so itchy and so sore all day. I limped around, whimpering and complaining like an idiot.

Dave teased me mercilessly about my ingenious dry shave. In the car on the way home, I needed relief so bad, I slathered them with Rocco's nappy cream. Bad idea, it stung like a bitch. So I used his wipes to wipe the cream off.

White pain. Oh the agony.

Yelling :"YEEEEEEOOOOUUUCH. What the fricken frick!? These are supposed to be GENTLE. They are for BABIES BUMS."

Lotion is the key! If you must shave on the fly, slather a little hand lotion on your leg and then shave. It works amazingly well. I found this out the hard way when I broke my heel and was forced to live with out proper showers and only had baths with my foot in the air. Oh that was fun. You should have seem me mopping the huge kitchen floor with a cast on my leg....had to drag myself around on the floor like a paraplegic. Not pretty.

Ah. The dreaded dry shave. Can I tell you how many times I've jumped in the car and realized I'd done everything but that little, unforgivable detail?

And you know I ~love~ it when I run around like a maniac dressing literally everyone but myself first. And then, as the only adult female, dressing ~me~ takes longest of all. So inevitably our en masse departures end with everyone waiting in the car for ~me.~ Which really ticks me off. Last one in's a rotten egg, my arse. Mike sitting in there, barely having broken a sweat to get the troops out the door, looking all very shit-together, while I scramble just to look like the one who's holding everyone up. As if.

Diaper cream? Oh yeah. That stuff is harsh. I used it on myself once too and GEEEZUS. No wonder it wasn't helping Dylan's evil, persistent butt rash.